These two new one-act operas
had been given their first performances on 14 March at Snape Maltings; three
days later, they came to London, where they will be performed three times,
before moving to Leeds’s Howard Assembly Room for a performance there. That
reflects the excellent idea of having Aldeburgh, the Royal Opera, and Opera
North jointly commissioning and sharing productions on an annual basis. Much as
one might regret the language in which the statement, ‘Nurturing Opera Makers
of the Future’ is couched, for instance, ‘The motivation is that in recent years
this middle-scale opera sector has changed,’ the commissioners’ hearts are
doubtless in the right place. They rightly point to the sad demise, for which
our political masters bear heavy though not sole responsibility, of companies
such as English Opera Group, Kent Opera, and Almeida Opera; let us hope that
this initiative continues to bear fruit as it did here.

Craftsman (Andri Björn Róbertsson)

It was interesting to note
that the programme suggested composers and librettists as creators of equal
stature, billing ‘Elspeth Brooke and Jack Underwood’, and ‘Francisco Coll and
Meredith Oakes’. Such seems to be part of an ongoing tendency. Though we are
not likely any day soon to return to the eighteenth century, when Metastasio
would be billed above the legions of composers who set his libretti, it is
interesting to note the increasing literary claims advanced, far from
unreasonably. Certainly in the case of The
Commission, my attention was more or less equally divided between Underwood’s
libretto and Brooke’s music, the former based upon a poem from Michael Donaghy’s
1993 collection, Errata. It is well
suited to musico-dramatic treatment, the tale of a Craftsman’s revenge upon the
wealthy Merchant he holds – we never learn whether this were actually the case –
to have abused and killed his brother. Brooke’s setting is resourceful,
written, as indeed are both operas, for small instrumental and vocal forces,
but in this case supplemented by certain electronic sounds. Jazz is one clear
reference; indeed, in a brief composer’s note, Brooke credits Miles Davis’s
soundtrack for the Louis Malle film, Ascenseur
pour l’échafaud. But the sonorities of cimbalom, mandolin, and accordion also
make their mark, as does repetition of what I suppose one might call motifs,
that repetition acquiring genuine dramatic impetus that takes it beyond
minimalism. Perhaps the vocal writing is less distinguished; for me, at least
on a first hearing, it did its job, but did not seem especially inspired by
voices as such. However, I am loath to say more than that, given that this was
a first hearing, and it is more than possible that my ears were at fault.
Moreover, the sense of transformation, when the Silversmith’s Daughter finally
finds her voice suggests very real genuine musico-dramatic ability; the
contrast was clearly (part of) the point.

Café
Kafka offered a bracing,
sardonic contrast – one to which I admit I responded more readily, but again,
that may be more about me. Meredith Oakes may now, I think, be forgiven that
doggerel reduction of The Tempest for
Thomas Adès, since this offers a genuinely provocative treatment of, in her
words, ‘the vertigo and intoxication people feel not just from trying and
failing to understand the world, but also from trying to deal with the actual
details of their own and other people’s behaviour’. The point is made more than
once that the search for coherence may be in vain: a point we should at least
consider, even if it prove well-nigh impossible for us as humans entirely to
acquiesce. Two men and two women’s flirtations and conversations in a café
attempt and fail to make sense of their lives, when suddenly the mood and tone
change (as well, in this case, as the excellent lighting: Matt Haskins), and,
in the words of director Annabel Arden’s synopsis, ‘Into this hermetic world
comes the inexplicable figure [from a Kafka short story] of the Hunter Gracchus
who died a long time ago, but whose death ship cannot truly cross into the
realm of death.’ Francisco Coll’s score is bright and angular, rhythm and instrumentation
working in often scintillating tandem. Here undoubtedly is a major talent, as
was also suggested a couple of years ago at a London
Sinfonietta performance of his Piedras.
Vocal writing and differentiation were for me more readily apparent here, and a
similar degree of resourcefulness, albeit of quite different nature, was
undoubtedly apparent.

Arden’s stagings did, so far
as I could tell, very well by the works. The smartness of sets and actions for Café Kafka was especially welcome,
lending a skilfully ‘empty’ credibility to the loneliness and incomprehension
of modern social life. Richard Baker and the players of CHROMA were excellent
throughout, their incisiveness in the latter opera suggestive almost of lengthy
acquaintance with a repertory work rather than a second performance. The
singers did an excellent job too. Andri Björn Róbertsson’s dark-toned – and dark
of character – Craftsman was well-matched by his scene-stealing transformation
from barman into mysterious Gracchus. Anna Dennis proved equally adept in the
transition from unintelligible to communicative daughter, and thence to the new
world of Coll’s opera. Suzanne Shakespeare’s vocalism in the latter very much
matched the éclat of the instrumental
writing. Daniel Norman and William Purefoy did fascinating, dramatically
credible masculine battle there too, contrast and blend between Norman’s tenor
and Purefoy’s countertenor not the least virtue of these performances, nor
indeed of Coll’s score, the composer’s willingness and ability to write for
voices in duet proving especially refreshing.